


Noise

by 18kiwis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 06:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5995816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/18kiwis/pseuds/18kiwis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For most, the worst part was over. The war was finished, the bodies were buried… For Draco, however, his summer was just beginning and his life was (hopefully) just ending. </p>
<p>Or, Harry finds Draco in a vulnerable state on the Astronomy Tower and decides not to curse him this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noise

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction, and I'm a bit nervous to share it. I've been reading fics for quite awhile, but I thought it was about time to write one myself. Constructive criticism and feedback is always welcome! Hopefully, I didn't do too terrible my first time around. Please take heed of the trigger warnings above.

_"Let it break. You'll feel better. You're always near, but gone forever."  
\- Noise, Gemma Hayes _

The summer prior to the beginning of term was spent reconstructing Hogwarts. Because of the Battle, the once mesmerizing, magical school was turned into an horrendous building in shambles with an eerie reminder of what happened on that fateful eve. Draco Malfoy avoided Azkaban by the skin of his teeth, in part due to Harry Potter's testimony at his trial, and was sentenced to 1000 hours of community service, including helping rebuild Hogwarts. Draco had never done menial labor, but he wasn't one to complain. Community service wasn't ideal, but it was better than what most Death Eaters received. After seeing what Azkaban did to his father, he took his punishment in stride. That was, of course, until he heard the remainder of his sentence. The Wizengamot decided Draco didn't have enough appreciation for muggles, as if some of their members didn't support the Dark Lord behind closed doors. The Chief Warlock announced Draco would be without magic for the summer. While it didn't seem long, it was three months without what most wizards couldn't imagine being without, especially if they were ordered to do hard labor. Unlike his son's, Lucius Malfoy's hearing was still in progress. The Death Eater had attempted suicide last month and was deemed unfit to stand trial. The elder Malfoy stole a guard's glasses, broke them, and managed to slit his wrists with the glass before the man cast a body-binding spell. Narcissa was tried a week before her son, wearing a formal, green robe with an emerald pendent around her neck. She was the epitome of a Greek tragedy, beautiful and miserable. She was put on house arrest at the Manor. Potter spoke in defense of the woman, but the Wizengamot insisted she'd only do harm if she was allowed on the streets of wizarding Britain. Those close to Narcissa knew the aging witch wanted nothing to do with dark magic after seeing how it ruined the livelihood that was her family. In some ways, Narcissa's punishment was worse than Draco's. The Manor was no longer their home but instead a constant reminder of the torture that was inflected on a countless amount of innocent lives in the Wiltshire mansion. 

It was a warm, clear night in June. Draco used to spend the beginning of the summer with his mother, gardening and tending to the elegant white peacocks at the Manor. He'd occasionally spend days sitting in the Manor's grandiose library, looking out the large bay window over the sprawling acres of land as he studied some of his Hogwarts literature for the upcoming term. Today, however, Draco had been required to assist Neville Longbottom and Professor Sprout in rebuilding the green house. The green house was set ablaze during the Battle by a Death Eater who must've had a deep-seated aversion to herbology. Working outdoors was worse than Draco expected, and it wasn't because of Longbottom and Sprout's endless chatter about gillyweed. Draco knew nothing of muggle sunscreen and wasn't able to cast the spell his mother taught him to protect his fair complexion. Because of this, his pale, white skin had a reddish tint, and his shoulders and nose were peeling from a painful sunburn. Draco couldn't stop anxiously picking at the dead skin that was falling off as he considered what his life had become. He felt like a useless squib. What was the difference between him and Filch? Draco shivered at the thought of becoming like the old, decrepit man with an unattractive kneazle. While he had a kneazle in the past, by the name of Cassiopeia, Mrs. Norris was a sight for sore eyes. As Draco sat on the edge of the Astronomy Tower, he tried not to remember the sins he committed a few feet behind him. Draco had a lot of time to ponder as of late. He'd written several letters to various people he hurt, rather it be physically or mentally, to apologize for his prejudice ideology. He was still unsure of muggleborns and whether or not they could be successfully integrated into wizarding society, but he'd come to realize being a pureblood wasn't as glamorous as he once believed it to be. Most people didn't respond to Draco's owls, but there were a couple who wrote to him. Luna Lovegood was one. She thanked Draco for sneaking into the cellar at night to give her food while she was held hostage in the Manor and for the apology. She might've been around the bend, but Draco knew she had more sense than him. Draco's feet were swinging off the tower as he looked down, attempting to configure how many feet off the ground he was. Would he survive if he jumped? Draco knew the answer was no. Perhaps that's the reason he stood up unsteadily and leaned over the railing. His hands were trembling violently as they clenched the antiquated balustrade around the perimeter of the tower. He felt the rusted fence and sweat under his palms. Draco lifted one heavy foot and put it on the railing. And then another. If someone were to ask the Slytherin what he was thinking, he'd answer with silence. He wasn't thinking about anything other than the fact that he was miserable and wanted, _needed_ , to end the noise. The noise was the sound of Charity Burbage's blood-curling scream as Lord Voldemort murdered her in cold blood on his dining room table. The noise was of Crabbe, his lummox of a crony's, tortured groan as the flames in the Room of Requirement swallowed him whole. Merlin, did Draco loathe the noise. He lifted his foot again, this time over the ledge, and closed his eyes. _Here we go_ , Draco grimly thought to himself. 

"Malfoy?" a voice said, seemingly appearing out of thin air. At first Draco thought it was the ghost of Dumbledore himself, but, with a turn of the head, he realized it was Saint Potter. He didn't know which one was worse. 

"Potter, can I at least commit suicide in peace?" Draco mumbled under his breath. Potter shook his head in disbelief at the cynical comment. How could Draco joke at a time like this? Potter cautiously took a few steps towards Draco and placed his hand on his. He sighed in relief when the blonde boy didn't jump at his touch. Draco's hand was cold and quivering, despite the rising temperature. 

"You're trembling, Malfoy," Potter said. "You must be freezing." Draco snorted. 

"It's 30°, Potter," Draco responded. "I'll survive." 

"Isn't the goal the opposite though?" Potter asked with a teasing grin. Draco's lips thinned. "I'm sorry. That was rude." Draco huffed. He was about to fold his arms across his best, but then he realized that would be a dreadful idea that would end up in his guts being stuck to the pavement. "I'm sorry. That was rude." 

"No kidding, Potter," Draco muttered dryly. 

"Can you at least get down, so we can talk?" Potter asked. 

"About what?" Draco said. "I'm shocked you're not pushing me off the ledge yourself." Potter grimaced. 

"Why would I do that?" he said. "Why would I save your arse at your hearing only to to pitch you off the Astronomy Tower?" Draco had to admit he had a point. If Potter was going to murder him, he would've done it by now. He had ample amounts of opportunities to. Not many students had returned to Hogwarts to help rebuild the castle. The Boy-Who-Lived, of course, did, but he was the only member of the Golden Trio to come. Draco overheard that Granger was in Australia, attempting to bring back her parents' memories, and Weasley was assisting his twin brother, the one missing an ear, at the joke shop. Draco sighed in defeat and shakily stepped off the railing, stumbling into Potter's arms. Draco looked into his emerald orbs, and, for the first time, he saw something other than hate in his ex-nemesis' eyes. He saw fear, anguish, worry, anxiety… all of the things that Draco felt as well. Potter helped Draco sit on the floor. He draped the cloak he was wearing around Draco's shoulders. It was a horrendous pattern and looked like a garment that matched Weasley's robes at the Yule Ball. Draco then realized there was more to the cloak than meets the eye. His shoulders disappeared, and Draco's eyes widened like an owl's. 

"You have an invisibility cloak?!" Draco exclaimed, a rush of envy flooding to the surface. 

" _The_ invisibility cloak." Potter corrected, a smirk playing on his lips. 

"Wait a tick," Draco said. "Were you spying on me with this blasted thing?!"

"Not important," Potter mumbled, his cheeks turning an incriminating shade of pink. "What is important is the fact you were about to kill yourself no less than five minutes ago." Draco rolled his eyes. Leave it to Potter to reverse the conversation. To be fair, Draco's problems were a bit more dire at the moment. "Why would you try to commit suicide, Malfoy?" 

"Like you don't know," Malfoy said. He didn't want to cry, but he could feel the fat tears brimming in his eyelids. "Would you want to be me?" 

"No, and I wouldn't want to be Nearly Headless Nick, but I wouldn't suggest he hang himself in the Great Hall." Draco furrowed his eyebrows. 

"Is that even possible?" he asked. 

"I don't know," Potter snapped impatiently. "That's not relevant. The point is, I didn't defend you at the trial for you to off yourself later. I believe you deserve to live. You apologized for your wrong-doings, and you're doing what the Wizengamot asked of you. You've come too far to give up." 

"Don't you see? I've already given up, Potter," Draco croaked, sobs building in his chest. "My family is gone. My father's fucking mad, and my mother— she's a shell of herself." Potter looked sympathetic. Draco doubted it was because of his father. He knew his mother had saved Potter's life, and the two still corresponded after the hearing. "I'm done. There's nothing left for me." 

"I know it seems like that, Malfoy, but it's not true," Potter said. "Your mind is just telling you that. Your mother needs you more than ever. I don't know about Lucius, but your mother loves enough to risk her own life for you. If you think she's in agony now, imagine her reaction to finding out you were dead." Draco blanched at the thought of his beautiful mum in her silk nightgown, holding a letter in her trembling hands that announced his suicide. "I understand you're miserable. Most people are after a war. What keeps of moving forward is what we'd leave behind. Our friends, our family, our bloody pets." Draco laughed through his tears. He didn't even realize Potter was crying until he looked up at him and saw the raven-haired boy's wet eyelashes were fluttering rapidly. 

"Why do you care, Potter?" Draco managed to choke out. "No one else in the castle would." 

"I care because I've been watching you this past month," Potter admitted with a reluctant sigh. "You haven't done a complete turnaround, but you're trying. You haven't used a single slur or even complained about the fact you can't use magic. It's not just that though. I've come to realize we're not as different as I originally believed." Draco wiped away the tears that were falling with his Slytherin tie. Potter placed his hand on top of his again. This time a sudden surge of warmth went through his body. 

"I feel like I should apologize for what I did in the past, Potter," Draco said quietly, not able to look at Potter. He didn't want to see the boy's expression as he did something Malfoys never did— apologize. "It seems like I've apologized to everyone sans the person who I hurt most. You." 

"To be fair, I wasn't the kindest person to you either," Potter said. He looked at Draco's abdomen, thinking about the scar that rested under his shirt. "You and your mum saved my life, Malfoy. Don't think that's in vain." Malfoy smiled softly, despite himself. 

"Thank you, Potter," Draco whispered. Potter got on his knees, about to leave, when Draco grabbed his wrist. Potter looked at him. "I know it seems juvenile, but I don't want to be alone."

"It's not juvenile," Potter insisted. Potter laid down beside Draco who joined him on the wooden floorboards to look at the night's sky. Both of them were so quiet they could hear the another breathe. Draco felt Potter's presence all around him even though the Gryffindor wasn't making a sound. Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes as the noise came to a halt.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're thinking about suicide, please don't hesitate to ask for help. I'd love to talk to you on my Tumblr blog therogueish. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
